


Trying

by BrightParker



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Everyone is back but its a bad situation, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Handling it, Hurt/Comfort, Infinity War, Kinda, PTSD, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sad, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 15:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16098941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightParker/pseuds/BrightParker
Summary: “Hey.”He sounded fucking destroyed. Maybe not to anyone else- not to the Guardians or Strange, but to Peter.///////A character study oneshot kind of thing that occurs in the aftermath of Infinity War.





	Trying

It felt like they’d been on that fucking ship for weeks.

The soft hum, the vibration of the floor and the wall under his body had once been kind of grounding, calming, even. Now every movement just drilled into Peter. Made his teeth ache and his shoulders tense up. Made his stomach churn and his eyes sting. 

Across from him were two seats. He must have been half conscious when he’d sat down all that time ago, because he couldn’t pinpoint where he actually was. The ship- possibly the back. A small room, illuminated by soft blue lighting from an unidentifiable source. It was littered with junk, scrap metal and old clothes; the messy sight was almost comfortingly familiar. As pungent the oily, dirty, unkempt, sweaty smell was, it was fine. It was okay. Familiar. The table was small and made from maybe a type of wood- so were the chairs. One held someone he knew very well.

He liked to think he knew him well. He probably didn’t at all.

They’d sat in silence for a long time. The brunette had stayed in the same position on the seat since he’d last offered Peter a silent mug of something. Peter could feel his gaze on him. Those soft, tired, kind, scared eyes. He was as terrified, tired and older than he’d ever seen him. It was frightening. But it was comfort. 

Peter secretly relished his presence. 

Despite the lack of communication, he doubted he would have kept it together without Tony looming over him. The protective looks he swept over him every ten minutes made him relax more. It was as if another part of a weight had been lifted from his bones.

He was grateful.

His eyes had preoccupied themselves with following the rusted patterns of the metal walls, his vision blurring when he stared without blinking for too long. He ached everywhere. But there wasn’t point in complaining. Sitting tight would take him home. The faster he could leave it behind.

He’d never sat so quiet in his life. 

Then again, what in hell could he possibly say?

_Dry mouth, stiff back, aching eyes. Rusted wall. Table, chair, leg. Arm. Hand._

_Arm, leg, hand. Body. Hips, knees, calves, thighs_

_Shoulders, toes, fingers, chin_

_Feet, nose._

He sniffed.

Exhaled a little.

He was still all there. He decided, in the end, after another check. He slowly un-tensed and tensed the muscles he knew should exist- and they did. At least he was existing so far.  
It was a very unconscious thing, to check his body, and he often did it without realising, earning some glances from Tony as he twitched maybe too fast or ran a hand across his abdomen for the third time in a minute. The glances made him relax- but they also worried him. He didn’t want to concern Tony fully understanding he’d nearly gave the man a heart attack.

It was strange to think he’d be eighteen soon. 

That’s when kids get jobs and start a life and shit.

And he’d already fucking died.

He must have exhaled too loudly. Or maybe it was the kind of abnormal shake of his arm he added along with it. Tony lifted his head, sunken skin , dried blood caked on his forehead, eye bags in all their glory, but still as attractive as ever with those stupid dark eyes and strong jaw. 

He wondered inwardly what it’d like to be Tony Stark instead of a literal child from Queens who had already died.

He was so lost in just staring at the man that he didn’t register that the man had even said anything until he addressed him again, louder.

“Peter?”

His voice was soft. Less ‘I’ve just been through the worst experience of my life’ than he expected. .’

Peter blinked.

He’d also not addressed him as ‘Peter’ recently, if not at all.

“Mhm?” He half grunted in response, trying to see like it wasn’t as much as a chore as it really was to open his eyes a bit wider. Just for Tony.

“How are you?”

Now that was a question.

He really did try to come up with something. It didn’t work. Words were lost in his mouth, his eyes just watching Tony as if it was contagious. In the moment, he was put on the spot, his hands clammy, the battered suit he’d put on an eternity ago seemed to squeeze him tighter. 

He just shook his head. He must have looked a bit insane, he realised.

He felt numb. It was terrifying him. It was all so much… and then it wasn’t enough.

He probably should have said something when Tony continued to watch him before sitting down next to him. He didn’t. He just listened to the rustle of clothes and the breath the man let out as he leant back into the cool metal. He should have showed Tony he acknowledged his existence. He was probably scaring him, being all quiet. But even the prospect of a full conversation seemed so excruciating. He was too afraid to move in case he started to feel.

The stretch of silence hurt Peter’s head.

He suddenly wanted Tony so badly to go. He felt as if he was just constantly hurting him as long as he was sat there. His insides churned.

He tried to talk, summoning the courage. Speaking felt as if he were trying to swallow gravel. His voice came out about seven octaves lower than usual as he forced himself into conversation, the name right on his lips, Mr-

No. He was pretty sure that’s what he’d said before it happened. Of course it was- that was all he ever called him.

Peter didn’t want to be the one responsible for giving him a PTSD induced panic attack.

“Tony?”

His voice cracked, but it was fine. He’d at least got it out.

The man turned to him with a foreign look in his soft eyes. Peter supposed he was surprised at how Peter had addressed him. Or maybe surprised at how he’d spoke at all.

“Hey.”

He sounded fucking destroyed. Maybe not to anyone else- not to the Guardians or Strange, but to Peter. 

Over analysing, Peter discovered, was the worst possible thing he could do, and every moment he spent judging the thick air between them made him visibly shake. He didn’t want to think anymore.

He didn’t think he’d ever find something to say- but Tony was watching him and no matter how subtly, Peter’s heart ached.

Actions spoke louder than words, he supposed. So he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding in, and deflated. Forcing his body to go limp and un-tense somehow felt almost as dangerous as jumping from a cliff. But instead of feeling it-the heavy feeling of dread and all the emotions- the memories- he felt Tony.

His head rested on his shoulder, his firm, warm shoulder, and the contact was like a breath of fresh air. It felt better than anything. It was everything he’d needed. Very nearly everything.  
He felt the tiniest bit of embarrassment as he heard himself emit the quietest, soft whimper, but nothing could bring him to care. Before he could register it, Tony had leaned back into the touch, and Peter felt himself positively melt as Tony guided his exhausted body to lie in his lap. It was if he’d been trying to breathe under water since they brought him back, and he was finally breathing again. 

A gentle hand ran lightly up the back of his neck, coming to rest on top of his most likely gross, sweaty and tangled brown hair. It stayed for a moment, until his fingers began to move, and he started slowly carding his fingers through the curls.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t made another sound.

He heard Tony exhale. If he did it any louder, it may have possibly been a chuckle.

Tony was so comfy to lie on. He was so warm, so wonderful, he smelt like sweat, blood and dirt but hell, so did Peter, and after growing accustomed, he could easily pull apart these from the natural Tony scent he wished he was more familiar with. They didn’t really do hugs. They were never on that level. Peter wasn’t even sure how the man felt about him.

 

_He supposed it didn't matter._

 

He fell into a dreamless sleep, and not for one second did Tony stop the hair-playing, only when he planted a long, light kiss on Peter’s head, and closed his eyes too.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment telling me how this was..? I wrote this because I got emotional and lonely so it's kind of bad but I hope you enjoyed it anyway lol


End file.
